The Initials | Nanowrimo 2023

5| The Awakening

Cloud feels the water tickling his ears as it wraps around his jawline and kisses his chin, feeling himself float on the surface of a cloudy body of water.

His hair sticks to his face as he tilts his head to the side, mirroring the actions of the blonde girl floating alongside him. She too is submerged in the shallow waters with her blue eyes cast upon the pristine sky.

Cloud's mind reaches out for the sound of drying leaves letting droplets of rain fall into the river, deer munching on chewy grass and the sound of the early morning birds humming together.

When she smiles, he cannot contain the buzzing feeling that tingles across his entire body. Even in the chilly waters he can feel the bridge of his nose getting warmer and his ears turning pink.

For a moment it feels like a heavenly gift but the feeling of euphoria goes away because even in the Dream Realm, dark clouds eventually eclipse the sun and smother all of the stars. "I'm dead Cloud, time to get up."

He wakes, feeling sticky, his blood and sweat clinging to his skin in a room that only continued to get colder whilst he was out. He discovers his captors have deserted him for now but there is no doubt that they'll be back.

Looking up at the ceiling, Cloud can hear the obnoxious sound of a bell ringing, seemingly a manually operated one by the lack of rhythm in its echoing chimes.

Cloud buckles over in the seat with his arms still bound, groaning through the pain whilst acknowledging the aching of his body. He starts counting down in his head before willing himself to perform what needs to be done.

With his eyes still closed, he thinks back to the night where he stood over the burning church, almost being able to feel the heat of the fire bathe over his glistening skin in brilliant, amber, light. "Three...Four...Five.."

He lifts the chair off the floor and tries to slam it down hard enough to break it. His first attempt fails, as does his second, and by the third he realises that he is running out of steam much faster than he should thanks to his injuries.

On his fourth attempt he picks himself up and leaps back onto the chair with all of his weight, hearing the first crack in the hind leg that was already splintered earlier before the entire thing falls apart like a stack of blocks.

Cloud picks himself off the ground, unable to remove either set of handcuffs from his wrists or the one large piece of the chair still stuck in the left pair. However, instead of trying to break it down, Cloud grips one end of the wood, brandishing it as a weapon for the eventual arrival of the cultist just upstairs.

The ringing of the bell suddenly stops, followed by what sounds like the cries of wild boars being wounded.

He feels dumb for ducking when the ceiling begins to shake from something heavy moving unbelievably fast overhead but the force behind the tremors makes him worry that the ceiling will cave in.

Once everything stops trembling and the dust settles, Cloud shuffles towards the door but isn't surprised to find it locked. He listens with his ear to the metal barricade, adrenaline pumping through his veins once he hears the sound of footsteps descending down the creaky staircase.

Cloud hides patiently behind the door as it opens, swinging at eye level for the person who enters the makeshift cell but his attempt is quickly met with disappointment when they catch his swing with ease.

"At least you haven't lost the will to live." The stranger utters, seemingly unfazed by the nail sticking out of the wood being an inch away from piercing his golden eyes. He crushes the wood with ease before lazily discarding it to the side. "You're not as incompetent as I'd thought."

Cloud stares at the shirtless stranger in awe, wondering if he'd hit his head a little harder than he realised.

The being before him is drenched from head to toe in blood, the scarlet evidence dribbling down his rippling muscles towards his tapered v-line, and even his black jeans are stained red, sticking tightly to his legs so that they look more like leather than denim.

But the most striking thing about him would be his impressively thick connecting beard and moustache. Although they share the same texture as straw, there's no doubt that they're well kept. Especially when looking at the luscious, blonde, waves on top of his head that perfectly frame his face even in their damp condition.

Underneath the red, Cloud notices the angel wings tattooed across his chest as well as the double sleeves of black ink that reach his fingers, but he can't help but wonder where this guy's shoes are.

"Are you going to kill me?"

The stranger trains his golden eyes on Cloud, crafting his next words very carefully. "Your...parents sent me."

Usually Cloud would need more, especially from a suspiciously handsome man covered in blood who simultaneously channels a Viking and a Greek God all at once, but given his current circumstances he quickly decides to throw caution to the wind.

Cloud lets the stranger lead the way, actively trying to mask the discomfort of his injuries, but once they reach the surface he forgets all about that after witnessing the aftermath of what could only be described as a reckoning.

On the ground lay a smoking corpse!

It's pretty obvious that at one point this had been someone, since the trainers they were wearing have somehow been left untouched, but what is left resembles nothing human and looks more like one giant scorch mark that was grinded into the church's marble floor!

Cloud's eyes follow the bloody footprints leading away from the body before noticing the fresh pair being left by his rescuer. He puts two and two together rather easily but he wonders what he used to perform such a gruesome murder, especially since he doesn't appear to be carrying any obvious weapons on him.

Things only get worse once they make it outside to the cemetery where the tables have been turned on his captors.

Cloud reckons there had been at least fifteen of them before the stranger had arrived and only eight begging with their knees in the dirt once he and his hulk of a partner had separated their bodies in half or burnt them to a crisp.

It seems he isn't done however, as he cups Cloud's face, smearing blood across his chin. "Speak quickly. Which of these men put their hands on you?"

Cloud pulls away, wiping his chin with his sleeve. "What does it matter? I'm fine."

The man meets Cloud's gaze and coolly delivers a line that will stick with him forever. "It matters because the person responsible is going up on that cross."